


Colours

by La Rose (EmeraldWriter)



Series: OG Collections [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt, Human Rose, M/M, Prostitution, Sex, Smoking, Suicide, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWriter/pseuds/La%20Rose
Summary: Arial Narrow belongs to MundaneOwlInspired by Colours by HalseyAlways surrounded by colours.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Rose/Arrow, Rosella Sans/Arial Narrow
Series: OG Collections [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918873
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

His head spun in circles. Going for many rounds on the merry-go-round then changing to a sharp knife slicing his head in carefully portioned pieces of a cake. “Urgh.” White. The ceiling. Maybe. 

He blinked his eyes and rubbed the crust away, grabbing the attention of someone else, lying down beside him. A tuft of blond hair and bare fair skin, shuffling slightly and opened their eyes. Ah. Blue. 

Then he remembered. 

It wasn’t noticeable anymore because he’s gotten used to its foul scent. Sweat, sex, smoke, and alcohol. They drank and chatted and fucked like no tomorrow. And he remembered green. Money. He was paid for his time. A good time. But the aftermath always made him feel like shit. 

“Morning. What a night huh.” 

Rose rolled his eyes. “You know the rules, darling. Now clean up and shoo.” He got what he needed. 

“Ouch. It’s my money all I’m good for? Thought we could have a bit of a pillow talk.” 

“If you pay me, I’ll let ya.” Rose said as he sat up to grab the bills from the counter and started counting. One, two, three—

“So cold. But that’s what I like about you.” 

There was more shifting, and Rose saw the man, completely buck naked, get up to collect their clothes and headed to the showers. There was no need to say anything else as Rose got out of bed to wear his used clothes all strewn on the floor. No goodbyes either. The guy had his number and he’ll just get a call again when he’s needed and wanted. 

There were more important things to do. So many more important things. His feet just led him to that familiar place. Years of practice. Paths committed to memory. The paved sidewalks, bustling crowd, and even the twists and turns of alleys. Nothing has changed since. 

“Ah, if it isn’t my regular customer~ The usual right?” 

Rose grinned. “Yup~!” He can never get enough. Handing greens for blue. Many blues. All trapped in a bag just for him. 

“I put more in there just because I like you so much.”

“Wow~ Thankies~” Wasn’t it just his lucky day huh. There was enough to last him a week! Pete’s been generous to him. All these years, since he was shown just how fun they were, Rose kept coming back. 

It’s just sad. Maybe. How his family and friends didn’t understand. They haven’t even tried it themselves. So how could they just say it was bad? 

Rose loved the feeling of reaching beyond what he was capable of. It was a dizzy euphoria. Lighter than a feather. Floating in space. 

He could just spread his wings and forget about the ground. But when he fell out, reminding him of the reality he was born to, Rose just takes another. And another. How many it took so that he can keep flying. 

Somehow, his feet dragged him back to another familiar place. Rose took out his keys, heard a clink and click, and the door opened before he could even twist the knob. 

He was greeted by a grays. Stormy grays staring back into his ruby reds. Rose always found it funny how taller he was in comparison to most. And right now, he was looking down on this stone-faced person he called his childhood friend. Grinning, Rose showed Arrow his bag of goodies. Blues. Blue pills. All for him. His appearance must be disheveled too. Not to mention how much he probably stank. But even in the face of these things did Arrow change his expression at all. It was like talking to a wall really. 

Instead, Arrow simply moved back to make way for Rose to come in. What a gentleman! Then again, this was his house after all. And it was Arrow who was the one staying—renting the place. He pays for the house bills so Rose doesn’t bother charging the guy further. 

“I got enough to last me a week~ Oh, did you buy the pack?” 

“Mn.” Arrow locked the door first to hand him the cigarettes. Plastic. Brand new. “Go get cleaned up first.” 

“Kaaaaaay~” This was the routine now. Coming home to Arrow taking care of his every need like a servant. Not once complaining at all even when Rose went on tantrums earlier on. Going as far as to punch Arrow in the face.

The shower water sprayed his face, cleansing—no. Rinsing his body of the smell and foreign fluids. Soap hides it, but Rose felt like he was still stained. Ink on paper. Bleeding and seeping deeply. 

You can’t remove it once you spilled the ink all over. 

Rose blankly stared at the wall. Maybe he hummed like he was enjoying himself. Yet he was remembering the pain on his knuckles. Fist making contact with flesh. 

Arrow’s mouth bled and only a bit of Rose’s skin got peeled and torn. Yet Arrow took out the first aid kit, and started tending to his hand. Gentle and kind. _Forgiving._

The bathroom door opened, and Rose let himself be washed by hands that always seemed to hesitate. Asking for permission he long since granted every time. Hands that wanted but didn’t. It made Rose feel like garbage. Still, he let himself be pampered and treated like this. Quietly and tenderly. Words didn’t need to be spoken between them anymore. Not since that day. But … “You’re so stupid.” Because everything Arrow had done was pointless. 

Silence answered him back. Maybe it was acknowledging it as a fact. Or denying. Whatever it may be, Rose wouldn’t know the answer to it. 

His life was just like this. 

Tiring. Heavy. Grounded. 

He was twenty seven years old. With prostitution as a career. And no degree in his name. A drop out like him couldn’t—didn’t need some paper. He’ll do whatever he wants. He could do whatever he wanted. What he wanted. Everything he wanted. He could … 

“Tomorrow is your birthday.” That was the longest sentence Arrow ever spoke to him. 

“Yup~ Gotta a present for me?” 

“Mn. Tomorrow.” 

“I can’t wait that long! Give it to me now!”

“... I can’t.”

Rose tilted his head down to look at Arrow. “You can’t?”

The latter shook their head. “I can’t … I still have to pick it up.” 

“Ah. Fiiiiiinneee. Yer off the hook.” Rose lied down on the bed after Arrow dried his wavy cotton pink hair back to its fluffy dryness. “Guess I’ll just stay at home since I have my goods. You comin’ back usual time?”

“Earlier.”

“M’kay.” Rose yawned, getting himself comfortable in the bed. Then felt it dip from additional weight. “Sleepin’ here again? Just dun touch me.” 

“Mn.” 

The lights were switched off. 

It felt like something was hidden in the darkness. A secret that would never see the light of day. Unspoken. And turned a blind eye too. 

In this darkness, Rose slowly clasped a warm hand. Gasping quietly when it held his own. He didn’t want to break the spell. Because everytime, he was reminded of the past. How they would have sleepovers and sleep like this after going on their fantastical imaginary adventures. Simpler times. Days he wanted to relive. And he could. 

Blue skies. All blues. Like his pills. 

It wasn’t like now.

He was barely hanging on. Maybe he did still have sanity left? Rose doesn’t know the answer himself. But he just … he can’t. 

What he wanted was … something he can’t have. But he can have blue. All the blue. Feeling blue. 

The bag made crinkly sounds, and he zipped it open to grab a blue pill in hand. Tiny but powerful. Wonders and dreams that await. One, two, three—he took a handful and popped it all in his mouth. Sealing his fate with the river that will guide him to his death. For once, an unfamiliar path. 

If he couldn’t be free, then at least, Arrow would be. 

* * *

_Beep … Beep … Beep._

White. The ceiling. 

It was a struggle to open his eyes though the sound annoyed him enough to wake up. Still, he was also very tired. It’d be easy to go back to sleep too. 

After whites came grays. Maybe some reds that weren’t his. Was Arrow crying? That was new. 

“You shouldn’t … have bothered.” Rose’s voice was raspy, dehydrated. And Arrow tried to give him water but he turned his head away. “You already … know.” Rose looked back when his hand was held by a trembling one. “I don’t … deserve you.” 

“But I want you.” 

So troublesome. This is why you need a new piece of paper. 

“I need you.”

“You don’t.”

“I _do._ I …” Arrow had to wipe his face. A handsome face that Rose turned ugly right now. “You’re the only I want. I need you here with me.” 

“... Really. Wish you … said it sooner.” 

“I was scared.” 

“... Me too.” Rose has always been. But he would never forgive himself if he ruined Arrow along with him. He was a pristine blank canvas. While Rose was already painted with so many colours. 

“Wait here. I’ll go get the doctors.” 

“Okay.” Rose said. Watching the familiar hesitation finally make a decision to leave the room. 

He said it although there was no need to wait anymore. 

“Sorry …” He never deserved nor asked for forgiveness. Rose did whatever he wanted. And this was no different. 

Because Arrow always forgave him no matter what. 


	2. Chapter 2

Grays. His life had begun to feel like that was the colour he saw. Maybe muted or bland. Or maybe it was his eyes that stared back at him in the mirror. Stormy grays. 

A glint of silver that the lamp light shone on attracted his attention back in this dimly lit room. Silver. Was it considered a variation of gray, he wondered. Having played with it for the past hour. Hours? He couldn’t tell. It was raining though. Rather harshly outside. Pattering the roofs and windows. 

Just like on the day of Rose’s burial. It was blue. Blue and gray. And maybe some reds. The roses were red. Just like their eyes that he could no longer see anymore. 

Arrow continued to live his days—mundane and normal as ever. Coming home, cleaning and cooking, paying the house bills. 

People had called, wondered, tried to help. But there was no problem. He didn’t need help. 

His dream had already long since shattered. A fragment memory just like this ring he held. A piece of silver. Small and insignificant. Used to hold a deeper and larger meaning. Just like that person who used to smile brightly and freely. A saturated sunrise lighting up his world. His now gray world. Devoid of its life. Of its sun. 

He found it funny how people only reached out to him years after Rose’s passing. Just now. When everything was already too late. Though it was to be expected. Because everyone else left and only he stayed. Even when Rose came home drunk and stinking of sex; whether it was from the job or a sex friend, leaving had never crossed Arrow’s mind. 

He was there after the separation of Rose’s parents. When Rose called him up to tell him he was dropping out and needed a place to stay. The vulnerable voice pleading—asking him. He watched as this beautiful man declared that he was becoming a prostitute, and told him of his sexscapades, as they were called, thereafter. Not missing a single detail of it. Maybe that was when Rose began to fall into the hands of addiction. Well, he didn’t know which came first. Arrow was also one of the others who tried to stop Rose in the beginning. The blue was bad. And there was blue everywhere. 

Emotions that ran rampant, swirling uncomfortably—trapped in the vessel of his body were never let out. A Pandora's box that stayed locked. 

It had to be. 

Rose needed him to be locked up. A seemingly pristine white canvas he was thought to be. Ever since his face was punched that day and he saw the look of abject horror and desperation on Rose, as if the latter couldn’t believe himself to be capable of it. Despite Rose being much taller than him, Arrow had never seen such a smaller person. What could he do but forgive. But if he was trying to forgive himself or Rose, it wasn’t clear. 

Since the beginning, he wanted nothing more than to be by Rose’s side for as long as possible. Just like their promise—a childhood wish—that never came true. 

It was easier then, just playing hide and seek, finding each other in most obscure places. Under the table covered by the table cloth, Arrow found Rose in there once. And he remembered they were both quaking with fear. Plates and glasses were being smashed. Voices were screeching at all time high, becoming louder and louder. Screaming over each other. 

And when it finally became quiet, Arrow took Rose back to their bedroom. A slow struggle, with each step trying to be as quiet as possible. Don’t notice us. Don’t mind us. 

He held onto Rose’s hand all night, coming over as much as he could every day. Rose would never admit to being a crybaby. But he cried a lot. A different kind of blue maybe. Or it was the same one. All the blues were the same. Just like Rose. He never changed. 

It was his secret. Just a tiny one. A precious one. 

He already knew why Rose did the things he did. How much the latter wanted him to leave him be. To abandon him like the rest of them. But how could he do that when every night, holding onto the same hand he’s held for years, never wanted to let go. Always pleading—asking him to stay. As if one day, he’d deny Rose of that sanctuary he’s been holding onto. 

But he was also the same. 

Otherwise, how could he remain silent. 

There were things he should’ve done. Things that he shouldn’t have supported. But would it have saved Rose? Or would he just be like everyone else in their eyes. 

Arrow had always watched over and taken care of Rose. Wiped away tears that melded with the shower waters. Listened to the small restrained gasps that plagued him every night. 

He let himself be treated like this. He lets it. Maybe to ask for forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

All because he was scared. A coward. The lion without a heart of courage. 

Arrow had never forgiven himself for the things he should’ve done. He had always been watching. Only watching. To see this once beautiful red rose turn blue, then to black. Wilted. Weakened. He had never deserved this rose from the beginning.

He really should have said it sooner.

It was already too late when he got his heart back from the wizard. 

He took a large inhale, puffing out white smoke in a smooth exhale. Bitter. Light. He was never a fan of these things before, but they grew on him, over time. 

And it wasn’t just that. 

Arrow glanced to the clear jar—filled with blue. All the blues. 

From the beginning, the canvas had never been pristine. 

**Author's Note:**

> I experimented with this kind of pacing and almost seamless transition?


End file.
